After the Fall
by ADream4you
Summary: John finds tha his friend has survived the fall. But how? Can Sherlock ever redeem his name? Could an invisble murdering psychopath, whose picking off diplomats be Sherlocks chance to gain what he has lost, and prove once and for all he is not a fake. not in chronological order. Reviews are welcome.


John climbed up the flight of stairs gulping a mouthful of air as he reached the top. He caught sight of his once deceased friend, Sherlock, half giving him a glance as he stood in the hallway. His dark curly brown hair half covering his forehead bringing some color to his long pale face. Already in his casual wear John contemplated, this consisted for Sherlock as merely a white partially folded bed sheet. Let the awkwardness begin John reflected smugly. Heavily sighing, he prepared to greet his housemate.

"_Are you okay_ Sherlock?"

"Why" Sherlock replied back puzzled.

"You managed to piss Lestrade off a couple hours ago"

"He'll get over it, whatever _it _is"

The tall lean skimpily clad figure draped over the couch seemed to shrug the notion. An iconic smiley face embedded in the wallpaper behind Sherlock reminded John that his comrade could sometimes be quite mentally unstable. It might have been a pretty wall, before Sherlock lived there. Note to self, John reflected, should hide gun next time Sherlock is alone in apartment. God how he missed this brilliant man even though he might be a bloody prick to strangers and most of Watson's dates. A decapitated hand swung from the door of the refrigerator and a microscope was now crushing the remote for the new telly, all was back to normal. Only now to find an actual place next time to store the food away from the dead swinging body parts.

"Three undetected murders in one year since I was gone, Lestrade. You handled the Molesey Mystery with less than your usual —_Bravo_." Sherlock looked confused. "I was complementing him."

"Ok… didn't quite sound like that." John took a seat down in the debilitated sofa chair across from Sherlock. It was good to have him back even though he was pretty sure the occasional insult would make its way back into the conversation. The couch probably should probably be removed, since Sherlock had stabbed it a bunch of times with a butcher knife still stuffing was running out the back.

"What do the _simple minded_ do for fun?"Sherlock nonchalantly questioned his companion. Well that came a bit early. The _simple minded_, glad to see that insult comment back in rotation again. Sherlock grabbed the stress ball next to him on the table and began to throw it continuously at the ceiling letting the white sheet hang over his thin frame. John really hoped no one would walk in on this situation especially Mrs. Hudson, who pretty much had them categorized as_ "partners."_

"_The simple minded_…..you know what never mind." John felt a little cross at the insult but he was too distracted to really much care at this point, this is how Sherlock shows his concern. Smile nod and nod and smile. He felt his fingers digging harder into the arms of the chair, he would swallow his pride because his friend was back and that's all that mattered at this particular moment. Besides, his psyche yearned for the adventure another case might bring.

"I didn't mean it like that John." Sherlock turned to look at him, blue eyes locked on him like a target, still keeping the ball up in the air. "_I'm sorry_."

John just starred at Sherlock in utter disbelief. Did he just apologize? Shaking his head and flexing his shoulders, John decided he would continue this conversation but in his head. _Please no one walk in, now I know why people call me a bachelor. They think I'm bloody married to Sherlock. I wonder if that woman in the bakery is single. What's her name Shirley? Im sitting in an apartment with a man stark naked in a sheet…what was I here for again? Is that my sheet? Oh god no….._

"John you came running up the stairs, which I assume means you had something important to tell me, regarding the fact that you just came back from another meeting or should I say "surprise kidnapping" with my brother. By the way Shirley, the bakery girl, is married. Her skin is pale right where the ring band would be, plus she keeps writing _Mrs_. on her nametag. Shame really. Where we're we? Oh yes, Mycroft"_ Sherlock smiled sneakily._

"_What_….how did you know about _Shirley or_ _your brother_? John still stunned. "You know what forget it. Wait a minute….you made me coffee for the second time this morning_. Im drugged aren't I._ Should have known by now I think, don't feel any different." John began to feel a little flustered and touching his forehead for signs of some possible drug dosing.

"I didn't _drug_ your coffee; I was being how you call it _nice_." Sherlock rubbed his fingers together still slumped on the couch. The gray stress ball now lying on his chest keeping rhythm as he breathed.

"Well apparently a diplomat has been murdered, some foreign hostility issue. The diplomat's house was empty, no sign of forces entry, the usual. Car's outside and …. please don't flash the diplomat from Australia."

"What makes him think I'm going to come? I'm doing important thinking" Sherlock flipped around to face the wall again; the ball dropped off his chest and rolled along the grooves of the floor.

"Spending the day thinking stark naked on a couch is busy." John stood up and walked over to the long black wool coat hanging by the door. "Come on we're going." John tossed the coat onto Sherlock, accidentally covering his face in the process. "Aren't you always saying you're bored. _You bloody shot up a wall to prove your point_"

"If you don't exercise the mind John, it loses it deductive abilities. So Im going to just sit here and concentrate." He tried to stare John down with his ice blue eyes. _Here we go again, is this a temper tantrum, he is usually so serious. How could he convince a stubborn Sherlock to move towards some sort of resolution that would involve leaving the flat? He did have a camera and Sherlock was …. _

"I'll take a picture of you right now, _like this_, and put it up on my blog." John swallowed hard.

"_You wouldn't_" Sherlock trying to call his bluff.

John removed the camera phone from his pocket.

"I swear to God Sherlock. _One Two Three_…"

"Nobody reads your blog anymore. You haven't updated it in weeks."

John shook the camera and smiled slyly.

"_Fine!_." Sherlock bolted up, the sheet flapping in the air and entangling his arms flinging the coat onto the floor. He stormed into the other room, leaving a huff of white as he went.

John walked to the door waiting for Sherlock to pull himself together. John's eyes scanned the floor where he found Sherlock's black shoes lying in a heap.

"And your shoes!" John shouted towards the other room.

"Are they really _necessary_" Sherlock retorted back.

"I'm sure the two of you can play nice, after all he hasn't seen you in a _year_."

John grinned as he waited for Sherlock to gain his poise and hoped his air of arrogance would clear in time before they came in contact with Mycroft.

_**Three Weeks Prior**_

**John Watson's blog**

**_So long_…**

_I am sad to report the untimely passing of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, my best friend and colleague. I am sure most of my readers are well aware of his untimely passing. I want to make it clear he was never a fraud, never a fake. I will certainly not allow his name to go down in shame. This is the last entry of this blog for I find I no longer have the heart to update. So I thank you all for your attention and to those of you who have supported Sherlock Holmes. _

_I believe in Sherlock_

_-J_

_Ding dong_

"_Bloody fucking bell" John slammed the keyboard. He never lost his cool. What happened to him. He had turned into a grumpy impatient prick of his old self. _

_Ding Dong_

"_Mrs. Hudson can you get that." _

_Silence_

_Ding Dong_

_Who was it at this time of day? Its 5Am in the morning, John muttered to himself, he would be the only one to answer it. He began to make his way to the stairs holding the railing for the apparent limp had returned. Ache after ache reminding him how much life sucked when you lose the person you always felt you could turn too. Every step felt like a nightmare, one he knew psychologically he was putting himself through. Round and round this intrepid horror called living. Still the single bachelor, and without Sherlock he had reverted to just being the ex-war medic John. The door handle beckoned him to open it. Metallic and cold he slipped his grip around the knob._

"_Who is it?" John calmly asked_

"_Come now John, you should recognize my voice." said the figure behind the dark wood door. The divider between him and this apparent stranger._

"_WHO IS IT? IM NOT BLOODY PLAYING AROUND" John held the knob tighter in his grip_

"_Read the note." the voice said in what appeared to be a posh upper class accent. He heard footsteps as the dark glad figure gently glided away like a phantom. John could feel his breath and hear the rain hitting the concrete outside. He opened the door when he was sure the stranger was gone. There laying in the ground, wet and slightly torn, was a white folded sheet of paper. John balanced himself to reach for it on the ground below. The edges unfolded easily to reveal a very neat and tidy hand writing in a dark blue ink that had begun to run. _

"_Care for some Chinese food. I know a great place. Meet me there at noon."_

_P.s. Loose the cane _

_-SH _

_John stood in the rain as he continued to get thoroughly soaked holding the collapsing note in his hand. He continued to wait…and wait._

"_I think I would like some Chinese today." he mumbled to himself as he finally surrendered to the cold windy London day, and just let the tears run quietly down his face. _


End file.
